Revelations
by Orison
Summary: Bosco's thoughts in episode 15.


**Revelations (1/1)**

**-**

Disclaimer: No, I don't own any of the TW characters. If I did, I'd make sure Jason Wiles would never leave the show.

Spoilers: Everything and anything.

A/N: This is a short piece about episode 15. As a Bosco fan, I felt "Revelations" didn't fully satisfy me so what I did was take two of his four scenes (yes, I counted them! ;)), using the B/F dialogues just like we heard them, and then tried to get into Bosco's head to explain how he felt about the whole thing. I'm already working on two other fics and did NOT need another distraction, but this one wouldn't leave me alone. :)

Enjoy!

-

The room is quiet, silence greeting me as I walk in.

It's early, the rest of the guys must still be out on the street. That's part of why I chose to come here now. I'm not big into the whole greeting stuff.

I look around, taking my time while my gaze lingers on the rows of lockers, the stalls, the broken mirror. This place is usually so full of life I hardly recognize it now. No laughs, no jokes, no friendly bantering. It's kind of unsettling if you know what I mean.

My legs feel weak. This is what I've wanted for so long, yet suddenly it's like I'm seeing it for the first time.

I stare at my locker as I place the envelope with my gun on the bench and take off my sweatshirt. I mostly wear zipped ones now so I won't risk tearing off the bandage again. I don't want people to see what that son of a bitch did to my face. I'm just not ready for the shocked stares that remind me I'm not who I used to be.

Visions of the last time I was here flash through my mind. I was standing almost in this exact same spot when they came to tell me my brother was dead. I remember reaching for my cell phone to try and call him, and then slamming it against the metal cage when I realized he'd never answer it again.

I swallow, pushing the painful memories away, and focus on my weapon. Pulling it out of the envelope, I weigh it in my palm.

It feels heavy, almost foreign. For so long, this piece of metal was like a part of me, an extension of my own hand. Now all I can think about is that it doesn't seem to fit anymore.

I take out the empty clip, and once again I'm drawn back to what happened a few hours ago while I was practicing at the range. Disappointment rushes through me like a tidal wave. I thought that the more time I spent there the better my scores would get, but instead I'm left with a nagging feeling that things will never get any better.

I worked hard to come back, fighting like hell to get out of that hospital bed and prove all those doctors wrong. But what's the good of it if I can't do my job anymore?

Part of me still wants to believe I'm overreacting, that I'll requalify if I can just relax. I can't imagine my life without being a cop.

Raising my hand I turn toward the door, aiming the gun at an imaginary suspect. The vision in my right eye immediately starts to blur. Overreacting my ass. This is bad.

I hear the sound of someone coming into the locker room, but I can't tell who it is. I freeze for a moment, fear locking me in place.

"Whoa, whoa, don't shoot!"

I blink, recognizing Faith's voice, and instinctively lower my arm.

She laughs, making some of my frustration slip away. Her smile's always been contagious.

I still have to get used to seeing her like this, being a detective. I once said that police uniforms are not flattering to female figures. I was right. She looks good in street clothes.

Another feeling tugs at the back of my mind. I ignore it. It hurts to realize that she's managed to move on without me. She's doing great on her own.

"Swersky said you were here. How are you doing?"

"Good," I say, forcing my voice to sound casual. "I just came to pick up my service piece." _A gun that I can't use to save my life._

"He said that you were cleared to come back," she adds, leaning her hand on Davis' locker.

I shrug as if it's no big deal. "I just need to requalify."

"Requalify?" she laughs again, waving off my concern. "You're the best shot in the department!"

_Yeah, right._

"My aim is still a little off." A little off... That would be an understatement.

"It'll pass."

I nod, desperately wanting to believe her.

"So how is it, huh? Working upstairs?" I ask, changing the subject before my emotions get the better of me.

Her smile broadens. "I like it."

I know she does. From what little I've seen and the stories she's told me I can tell this is what she wants. I understand it. I've tried to be something more than a beat cop for years, first with ESU and then Anti-Crime. It just didn't work.

I'm happy for her. I really am. My only regret is that we won't be partners anymore.

I debate for a second whether to tell her or not, and eventually find myself reasoning aloud before I even realize what I'm doing.

"You know, it's the first time in thirteen years I'm gonna have a new partner."

Surprise spreads across her face, followed by concern, as if she's seeing for the first time how much she means to me.

I see her struggling to find something to say.

"Yeah, but...maybe you'll get somebody who doesn't talk about her husband and kids all shift," she says lamely, obviously trying to lighten the mood. It fails miserably.

Surely I wasn't expecting her to say that she's gonna miss me, too? And she should know that I never actually minded her talking about her family. Her endless stories always made me feel like I was part of that intimate group, even when it looked like I couldn't care less. Considering where I come from, Faith's family has always been the closest thing I've had to having one of my own.

We share this look like we've done a thousand times in the past, a look that speaks volumes about how we feel about each other. Faith and I have always been able to communicate without talking, and it's something I've prided myself on. Yet somehow, this time I can feel the disconnect.

"Yeah." I pause, hoping she'll add something more. When she doesn't, I understand it's time to leave. "Well, I'm gonna head out now. I'm going... going back to the range, get some more practice, and..."

"Yeah, Swersky's been after me to get down there. I've got until the end of the month to requalify."

I nod again, my mind still wrapped around the way she's just dismissed the whole 'partners' thing. I'm trying to pretend it didn't hurt but I'm failing at that, too.

"I could go down there with you," she offers, probably sensing that something's wrong. "I can, you know, can give you a ride."

"Nah," I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. Truth is I don't want her to see how bad my aim really is.

"No, it's not a problem. I'll just go get my stuff."

My lips break into a small smile. I've never been able to tell her no. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She turns around, heading outside.

The room fills with silence once again.

I lower my head and look down at the gun in my hand, praying it won't betray me this time.

-

I failed.

Again.

If it was a real perp with a real weapon I'd probably be dead now.

When I started shooting, it was like that damn piece of paper was shifting in front of my eyes, making it nearly impossible for me to get a clear shot.

Of all the things that could've gone wrong in my so-called 'remarkable recovery', it had to be my eyesight. I'm afraid to find out if this is what Dr. Lane was talking about when she mentioned long-term neurological problems. I wonder if there could be anything worse.

Thankfully, I was quick enough to fold the target before Faith came to ask me how it went so she didn't see it.

She thinks I nailed it, that I'm still the same guy who helped her out at the Academy. The best shot in the department. Trouble is, _killer_ isn't _killer _anymore.

I lied to her, and I feel bad about it. I just didn't know what else to do. Admitting to myself that there's a fat chance I might never get my job back is hard enough.

When we left the range, she insisted on giving me a ride home, too. I knew I wouldn't be able to sit in my apartment so as soon as she rounded the corner, I went for a walk to try and clear my head.

_Man, I've missed it._

Feeling the wind on my face, seeing the city at night, reminds me how much I lost during those long months in the hospital. I wish that being here now was enough to make me appreciate being alive, but I just can't get past the fact that my career might be over.

During my walk, I realize I'll never be able to do this on my own. If I want to requalify, I need to push my pride aside and do the very thing Maurice Boscorelli never does: ask for help.

So here I am.

My feet have led me to the only place where I've always felt safe, to the only person I always turn to.

As I stand in front of Faith's door, summoning up the courage to knock, I think of how much we've been through, of how far we've gone to help each other. The thought that she's stuck with me for all these years renews my strength for what I'm about to ask her.

She's always been there for me.

She won't deny me a favor.

I finally knock, tucking my hands in my pockets and holding my breath until she appears, silhouetted against the soft light of her apartment.

"Hi!"

"Hey. I hope it's not too late."

"No, come on in."

"Alright."

She steps back, opening the door wider and allowing me to enter.

The apartment looks different. Less furniture, more space but the same warm atmosphere. I've always liked being here.

"You want a drink or something?"

She's eating chips, and if I weren't so damn nervous I'd laugh at the image of tough, kick-ass Detective Yokas walking around barefoot and eating junk food.

"No, thanks. I just wanna talk to you for a second, if I can."

"Okay."

There's a hint of something in her voice that I can't quite figure out, and it makes me even more nervous.

My heart begins to pound.

I watch her put the rest of the chips back in the bag and then take a seat on the armchair at the far corner of the room.

"What's up?"

I sit down on the couch in front of her, taking another deep breath.

"I wanna talk about today at the range. The reason why I didn't show you my target isn't 'cause I nailed it, it's 'cause I couldn't shoot worth a damn."

She doesn't seem surprised. If she is, she's covering it up better than I would.

"You just had a practice."

_Yeah, Faith, I wish it was that easy._

"I've been practicing every day since I got out of the hospital. My scores haven't gotten any better," I confide. Man, it hurts bad enough to think about it, and I realize that saying it aloud is ten times worse.

"You just need time."

There it is, that look of pity I get from everyone who knows what I've been through. It makes me feel weak, like I'm a lesser man somehow.

"My focus is a little off, you know?" Despite my discomfort, I force myself to continue. If I'm gonna ask her to cheat for me I might as well tell her the whole truth. "My...vision in my right eye, it just...it gets a little blurry sometimes and, uh... I haven't told anyone."

"Well, you should talk to the doctor about that."

I try not to bristle at her comment. I'm telling YOU, Faith! I'd rather have you know about it than some doctor who just doesn't care about what happens to me.

"I don't want the department to find out." Just like you didn't want to go to the department's shrink when you got shot, remember? You kept saying you were ready to come back, even if you weren't.

"Yeah, but Bosco, if you're having trouble with your eye you're not gonna be able to requalify anyhow."

_Dammit, will you listen to me? _She isn't going to make this any easier.

"That's why I'm here. I need someone to shoot for me."

This time, what I see on her face is a look of pure shock. She stares at me, letting the words register in her brain. I force myself not to flinch under her gaze.

Alright, maybe telling her wasn't exactly a smart move. With Faith, you never know how she'll react, and I wonder if she's gonna laugh or yell at me.

I keep my eyes trained on her, pleading for her to understand without using any words. We both know I'm not good at this sort of thing. It's hard for me to ask for help, even from her.

Time seems to stop, the tension palpable between us.

I'm almost tempted to run for the door, spare both of us this awkward moment.

_Come on, say something. You know I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate._

When she finally speaks her voice is low, almost a whisper, yet the meaning behind her words is perfectly clear.

"Bosco, I can't do that."

I wince, feeling my hopes crumble.

Being a cop is the only role I know how to play, the only thing that gives me a sense of worth. It's who I am. Officer Maurice Boscorelli, NYPD. Badge number 3379. Without those things to define me, I'm afraid I'll cease to exist.

"If you don't help me I'm not gonna be able to get back going," I say, almost surprised that she's missing the obvious. I hate the vulnerability that I hear in my own voice.

"Bosco, if you can't shoot, you cannot go back out on the street. That is crazy." The way that she emphasizes the last word makes my skin crawl.

No, no, no, she's not getting it! It's not crazy. I don't want to put anyone in danger. My eye -will- get better, I just need a temporary hand so I can keep my job.

I stand up, unable to sit still anymore.

"You don't understand. I'm not gonna sit behind a desk for the rest of my life. It's not gonna happen. So I'm asking you. Everything we've been through together –"

Her features harden. "You're not thinking straight. I'm gonna tell you right now, you do NOT wanna do this."

God, stop talking to me like I'm one of your children! I took four bullets for you, Faith. Don't act all superior on me!

My eyes narrow and I glare at her. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have told her.

"It's all I got. If I don't get back going, what am I supposed to do?"

This is my life, Faith. My life! How can you not understand? I can't risk losing my job. Don't you know I'd rather die than see that happen?

"There are plenty of jobs that you can do down at the department."

_Bullshit! How can you be so uncaring?_

"No! I need to be in the radio car answering calls. It's what I do. It's what I'm good at. It's what I do!"

I don't care if I'm starting to sound hysterical. Want me to beg, Faith? I will.

I need to be out there helping people, feel the adrenaline rushing when you realize in a split second that your decision is gonna make a difference between life and death.

My gaze is still fixed on her, trying to decipher her expression. For a moment, I hope she'll tell me I'm not just a cop. That my life is worth something even if I can't wear the uniform. I need her to offer me that one bit of hope.

"I can't help you."

The pain I felt that day at Mercy is nothing compared to what I'm feeling now.

My best friend is turning her back on me.

I willingly stepped in the line of fire for her and she's telling me she can't help me?

I swallow, trying to take deep breaths and calm myself down.

"I saved your life that night, and you won't do this for me?" I hate the words coming out of my mouth, but I'm powerless to stop them. The betrayal is simply too great. My anger is spiraling out of control. "You're gonna sit there, and you're gonna look at me, and you're gonna tell me that you won't shoot a damn target?"

"Bosco, that is not fair..."

Yes, it is. It's MY life we're talking about! But why should you care, right? You've got your gold shield now, who gives a damn about the rest!

I stare at her in disbelief.

If I still had some hope left that she'd change her mind, this is the proof that she'll never do it.

_Screw you._

You're not gonna help me I'm gonna find another way. This is exactly what I deserve for being stupid enough to think that she actually cared about me.

"To hell with you."

"Bosco..."

What, you wanna say something now? Wanna say you're sorry? Well, guess what, it's too late.

"No! To hell with you!"

I storm toward the door.

"Bosco!"

It's over, Faith. Go play detective. You made your choice. Hope you're happy with it.

The knob twists under my touch. I need to get out of here before I fall apart.

"Bosco, don't do this!"

Something in her voice though makes me stop. I turn around and glance at her one last time, giving her a few seconds to add something more. I need her to tell me that she'll help me get through this.

She doesn't. I nail her with a last angry look.

Go to hell.

I'm outta here.

As I come out of her apartment building, I realize I haven't felt this lonely in years.

The wind has picked up and my sight is blurry again but this time it's because of the tears welling up in my eyes.

One of them spills over, slowly trailing down my cheek. I brush it away with the back of my hand and start walking back to my own place when a familiar noise draws my attention.

Looking back over my shoulder, I see an RMP streaking past me, sirens blaring.

A shiver runs down my spine.

There's something that gets into your blood about police work, about being a cop in New York City. Once you experience that, it becomes part of you, leading your every action until the day you die.

It ain't over.

God help me, I will be back.

THE END


End file.
